


Announcing Your Place in the Family of Things

by blippy



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Adoption, Do you ever see a family so perfect you started crying?, Established Relationship, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Found Family, Gen, M/M, drakepad, gosalyn mallard-mcquack, mallard-mcquack family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blippy/pseuds/blippy
Summary: It has been made abundantly clear from the year since the death of Gosalyn’s grandpa, that she has no other living relatives. Not that it should even matter when he and Launchpad were right there, with a warm bed and a green room with fairy lights all round the picture rail, when she had so easily carved her way into their hearts and made a family of her own.Or, it takes more than blood to make a family. Even if that thing is ruining other people's cinema experiences together.
Relationships: Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack
Comments: 15
Kudos: 83





	Announcing Your Place in the Family of Things

**Author's Note:**

> No warnings apply, set in the 2017 universe with heavy insp from the 91 series, title is from Wild Geese by Mary Oliver.

‘Gos, sweetheart, don’t worry, we’ll be back before you know it,’

Drake squeezes the girl round the shoulders. Her hands are balled in the back of his shirt, like if she clings hard enough it will make tomorrow and the day after disappear completely. He’s involuntarily bombarded with the same feelings of bereavement from after the Taurus Bulba incident. Once Gosalyn had no need for protection of Darkwing. 

Even back then, they had fallen into the routine of Dad and Daughter so easily, it was hard to comprehend the possibility of it ending. 

The weight of Gosalyn leaning into him exacerbates the feeling, threatening to tear him apart. But he pushes himself back together, determined to keep it hidden for another twenty minutes at least.

They're standing next to the car, procrastinating dropping Gos off. Launchpad is checking the van they’d bumped into on Drake's shoddy parallel parking job. They’re a little further away than usual, the closer roads clogged by day trippers visiting St Canard East and that totally has nothing to do with spending longer than he needed to to find a place to park. 

‘You can call us whenever you want, okay honey?’ He adds, like she doesn't already know, trying not to let the worry frost his words. 

Gosalyn nods her head, sniffing wetly before standing back from the hug. She has a white knuckled fist holding the strap of the backpack that’s slung over her shoulder. Her eyes are shiny and her brow is furrowed. Drake knows this face. This is the one she uses when she scrapes her knees up on the pavement playing street hockey just a little too hard to walk off. The one she uses when she watches Darkwing take a bad fall. 

Launchpad intervenes, stepping onto the pavement to crouch down and ruffle her hair, his shoulders sagging imperceptibly;

‘Breakfast on Wednesday, yeah? And we’ll be at your hockey match on Thursday too, and hell, it’s basically Tuesday now, anyway!’ He cups her face with both hands, squishing her cheeks.

‘Launchpad!’ She giggles, half-hearted, grabbing his wrists with both of her hands and wriggling with the motion, ‘-n, don’t forget that you promised the WHOLE team pizza if we win, even if DW says no’ She says, sniffing hard again and wiping her face with the back of her wrist, the ghost of a grin growing on her face.

‘Well-’ Drake starts,

‘You betcha kiddo,’ Launchpad interrupts, smothering her with a hug that she reciprocates in kind as she's lifted off her feet for a moment. ‘You ready to go in?’

She nods, solemnly, takes each of their hands in hers and drags her feet the short walk. Signing her in is quick. Gosalyn gives a perfunctory ‘hi’ to Ms Cavanaugh, before bounding up the stairs to put her bag away. 

Drake uses the moment of reprieve from small prying ears to press the carer on the adoption process. They’re eight maddening months in. Drake has the sneaking suspicion that the agency is just dragging the whole thing out to wring his pockets even drier, but Ms Cavanaugh is, as always, a strained, sympathetic ear.

‘Well,’ she prattles, ‘you already know that the social workers have agreed to your suitability, in home and character, and you’ve had enough successful home visits to adopt ten kids,' she smiles balefully, 'but they’ll probably just want to review the paperwork and consent forms, but I do know they want to do one more check for existing relatives-' 

‘And how long will that take, exactly?’ Drake asserts, sharply. 

It has been made abundantly clear from the year since the death of Gosalyn’s grandpa, that she had no other living relatives. Not that it should even matter when he and Launchpad were right there, with a warm bed and a green room with fairy lights all round the picture rail, when she had so easily carved her way into their hearts and made a family of her own.

Ms Cavanaugh wilts in the heat of his words;

‘It could be another month, could be two days. It really depends if the agency wants to be quick about it... but I’m rooting for you guys, I really am, and the second I get the phone call you’ll know straight away’

‘Thanks,’ Launchpad replies, refracting Drake’s frustration from the long suffering Ms Cavanaugh, ‘We appreciate it Ms C… we just want to give her a proper home alre-’ 

‘We painted my room and everything!’ A familiar fourth voice interrupts from the stairwell behind them, ‘They should know that I don't want to go with no other relatives anyway!’

‘I know, pumpkin’ LP says, spinning on his heels to face Gosalyn. She’s perched a couple of steps up, cutting a formidable figure despite her size, bristling with an energy that almost mirrors Drake's. In that moment, it's hard to see the nine year old that holds it together underneath the bravado. 

’But the brightside is that we got more time to convince DW to put that hockey goal in your room, yeah?’ Launchpad says, insistent and gentle. The same tone of voice Drake's been on the receiving end of more than a few times, telling him to eat and rest and 'please don't pop your stitches again DW'

‘Yeah, I guess’ She replies coolly, her anger fleeing and face dropping when she remembers what that means. 

‘We’ll be back as soon as we can, sweetheart’ Drake says, keeling on the stairs to hug her again. 

She burrows her face into his shoulder, an urge of protectiveness punches straight through him. Her hair is tickling his beak, it’s fluffy from the comb they tried to run through it that morning. She's a solid weight in his arms, it makes him wish that if they could just hold on tight enough, they would be able to skip past these goodbyes, until they're nothing. Buried under eventual early morning school runs, kissed foreheads and skinned knees and sneaky late nights on patrol. A weight comes from above as Launchpad joins the cuddle, wrapping a gentle arm around Drake’s back to rest a hand on Gosalyn’s head.

It has to end though; and does when Gos breaks the hug abruptly. She puts a hand on each of their shoulders, looking each of them in the eyes with a fierce, frightening seriousness that makes Drake physically brace, before saying;

‘I am gonna really need you guys to do a big favour for me though,’

LP and Drake lean into her words, floating somewhere between suspicion and concern until she grins, gap-toothed and goofy, and the dread fades away;

‘You’ve really got to tape tomorrow's episode of KO Power Dangers for me, okay?’

###### 

They leave soon after that. Dragging the whole thing out is as unfair to them as it is to Gosalyn. 

‘We can’t keep doing this,’ Drake says, waiting until they're in his shitty ford fiesta to burrow his head into his hands. 

His heart feels like it's being split in two; it does every time they leave her here.

LP slings a heavy arm over his back, hand absentmindedly rubbing figure-eights between his shoulder blades, resolute even when he’s hurting just as much. Drake leans into it, resting a weary cheek on Launchpad’s shoulder to look up at him. His eyes are puffy and red, and by the way he’s squinting and refusing to make eye contact, Drake can guess he’s been crying for a while, maybe since they left the foster home ten minutes ago. He can’t bear it. It startles Drake enough to move, shucking Launchpad's arm with urgency as he kneels up in his seat. At this height Drake can press a hard kiss onto his boyfriend's head while Launchpad shudders a quiet sob, letting himself be pulled into Drake’s chest. LP clings to him in kind, Drake’s heart drops past his knees. He finds he can’t do anything but let himself cry, too. 

They stay like that for a while, sitting in Drake’s car in the still aftermath. 

In the deafening silence, LP sobers up, scrubbing at his face with heels of his hands, flattening his hair against his head to pull his hat back on from it being knocked off earlier. Drake pinches the bridge of his beak and wipes his face. Sighing, he sits back down in his seat to buckle in, twisting the flat fabric of his seatbelt round and round his hand for the pressure, while his other hand finds Launchpad’s knee. LP fiddles with the keys in the ignition, giving a big shaky breath, and they start the quiet ride home. 

###### 

She had the best weekend. She even woke an extra twenty minutes early, just so she could be at the window, ready for when the car pulled up. She hoped that Launchpad would bring the Limo, but it doesn't stop her excitement when Dad’s shitty little Ford turns the corner.

Her bag was in the hallway, her hair pulled back into a messy little ponytail, coat on and ready to go. She had pounced on LP when he walked in, blabbering non stop until they were back in the car again. He’d just taken it all in his stride, used to the barrage of energy and surprise hug-tackles, she supposes, from Webby at least. Watching them had made her Dad go all bleary eyed and sappy, so Gos poked him in the side hard enough to make him snort back into focus. 

They'd gone straight into the drive through for a Hamburger Hippo breakfast, since her and LP outvoted Dad two-to-one. The car steamed up as they sat, greasy fingered, listening to Gosalyn’s rundown of the week around a mouth full of hash brown. Her surprise history quiz, bragging how she had almost gotten detention for punching the class bully for pulling her friends hair, how the whole class stood up for her when the teacher had tried to punish the both of them.

‘- and just when Ms Broadbill was going to send us both to the principal, Ashley from my hockey team stood up-’ She sputtered food everywhere, too wrapped up in the story. 

Dad had cheered, excited enough to forget chiding her for talking with a full mouth. But Launchpad had laughed at the same time, horking up a globule of cheese onto the dashboard. She stopped talking, not being able to look away from the gross blob as It slid down the windscreen. She looked to her Dad, frozen in disgust. And then over to Launchpad. He’s cheeks were all puffed up, like a chipmunk, and he looked so silly she couldn't help but laugh at him, and then that set him off, until all three of them were sitting, watching gross cheese in red faced hysterics. 

They went to mini golf and saw a movie after that. Gosalyn thrashed the game of course. But after an accident with the windmill and a window they promptly got banned a second time from this minigolf place, and the third minigolf place in the whole of Duckburg.

At the movie, Drake had bought her a bucket of popcorn bigger than her head and one of those crazy long cups of blue slushie. It sucks that they had to sit two rows behind Launchpad (the place was packed from families with the same idea), but Dad did make it better with his favourite game of ‘how many popcorn kernels (or peanuts, or m&m’s, or whole pizza rolls) can we hit LP with until he realises’ 

‘I slapped him with a whole chicken slice once when he was asleep and he didn't wake up’ She whispered, ‘That’s gotta count as like, at least 20 popcorn’

It took six kernels to bounce off his head before he noticed. Launchpad spent the rest of the movie trying to lean backwards as inconspicuous as he could to catch them in his mouth. Which... ruined the movie for everyone in three whole roles, but they didn't get kicked out! That’s always good. She can't even really remember what the movie was about, by the time it had finished she’d already forgotten everything but the incredible trick shots Dad had thrown, not that she’d ever tell him that. 

Sunday was lazy. She wrapped herself up in her duvet to watch cartoons and eat the good cereal that was hidden at the back of the cupboard (behind the Special K and Weetabix), LP had come down soon after. They watched a reboot of a cartoon and LP drank the grey green cereal milk at the bottom of her bowl when she had offered. Dad joined them, almost completely asleep for an hour even with his coffee. They’d stayed in pajamas the whole time, making fun of the adverts and infomercials, playing a very competitive grand prix in WiffleKart once Dad had woken up enough... 

And then it was just all too quick before they had to drop her off at the foster home. 

Now she’s here, again. Sitting on her bed in her shoebox of a room. It’s not too bad at Ms Cavanaugh’s, all things considered. It’s warm and she doesn’t have to do too many chores, but it isn’t for the good kids, the easy-to-handle kids. Half of the other people she had met there are just waiting to age up out of the system. The thought makes her stomach flip, she has to stuff her face in her pillow to let the nausea pass. She tries to think of something, anything to distract her. Like what Darkwing would be doing, right now. It’s coming up to 9pm, so he and LP would probably be up in the Tower, flicking through the scanners for leads, like a real detective and eating a lunchable, unlike a real detective. She snorts at the image. 

Like he knows, her phone buzzes with a text. 

  
dorkwing dad: sleep well tonight sweetheart, me and lp love you so so so so much <3

###### 

Monday night patrols are never anything special. Launchpad flew to Puerto Rico the night before with the McDucks, on some adventure or another, so it’s just him. (He’d had to sleep with the christmas episode of Darkwing Duck playing, the one where he’d had to team up with the bad guys to make sure that christmas came, the house just felt so quiet without LP puttering about in the kitchen, or Gosalyn causing havoc in the garden, or snoring louder than she really should be out her door). This night is no exception, barring the new bruise just shy of his sternum, courtesy of some thug with a pipe swinging wildly through the smoke bombs he had dropped.

But they were small fry, all things considered. Nothing more than a held up newsagent and some guys looking for quick cash. He handcuffs them to the bike rail outside the shop and drops a pin on his SHUSH mandated, criminal tracker… thing. A stray purse snatcher earlier in the evening and then a very lost tourist trying to get into an unmarked taxi. Other than that? It’s as dull as can be. 

He takes a moment out, sits on an air conditioning unit on an abandoned rooftop, a street away from the newsagent, just so he can catch the authorities turning up before he leaves. In the meantime, he thumbs through his waddle watch for the news and any potential leads, and… if he happens to send his boyfriend a sappy emoji chain while he’s at it, then nobody has to know. His mind wanders to the weekend, a pang of absence hitting him in the chest as he remembers Gos’ face scrunched up with suppressed laughter when she’d beamed popcorn off of the top of some poor guy's head and into another person's popcorn bucket. Despite the disapproving stares and it not being the best thing to be teaching his kid, seeing her face light up like that had made it pretty difficult for Drake to care. 

He scrolls up through his previous messages to Gosalyn. The last notification is a video call, lasting 15 minutes. He tries to call her every night, it’s no substitute for their usual routine; tucking her into bed, in her room, once an ugly grey white, now a muted forest green that she helped pick out and paint on their last weekend together. Singing her lullaby. He has to swallow the lump forming in his throat before it gets too much. That she trusted him, trusts him, with such an important detail of her life before. She’d fall asleep almost instantly, folded away into her dinosaur print bedsheets, red hair haloed around her. He’d kissed her forehead and pulled the door to. 

No, the calls aren’t the same, but they’ll have to do. 

There’s a few unread messages after the call that have happened in the interim of him suiting up and turning off his civilian electronics. It’s been a good few hours since she’d sent it. 

It’s a selfie of Gosalyn, posing, thumbs up in front of her history paper. There's a fat C plus circled in the top right corner, and she’s captioned it with:

gosaroo: Ms Redwing eat your heart out, there's a new historian in town 

He can’t help but laugh, even when a flare of pain shoots through his shoulder. He weighs up the pros and cons of getting that checked out before heading home (Pro: It doesn't feel like a break Con: LP wouldn't let it go if he’d broken his collarbone and refused to go to the hospital about it, especially if it was while he was away) either way, Drake wouldn't ever hear the end of it.

He decides against texting Gos back. Besides getting her into trouble, she’s even less of a morning person than he is. Whatever petty revenge waking her would spur would not be worth it. 

The sky is starting to lighten, painting gorgeous yellow pink clouds across the dark blue of the sky, which means it shouldn’t be long before he can change back into his civvies, (and if those civvies happen to be a pilfered hoodie from Launchpad’s drawer, well, who's to know?) the clock reads 5:16am. He swoops down the alley to the replacement motorbike that’s taken the place of the Ratcatcher while it’s recovering from a little dip in Audubon Bay. It’s not as cool as scaling the bridge in the full Darkwing get-up, he laments, but at least he can drive through a Hamburger King in sweatpants without getting immediately ID’d as the masked avenger of the night by the security cameras. He does a once over of the alley. Other than a few rats it's devoid of all life, and more importantly, recording devices. He changes quickly, stuffs the cape and hat and mask into a duffle, even if it does hurt him to crease the poor things. He shimmies LP’s hoodie over his compression shirt slash binder slash kevlar vest, kicks the bike stand, and drives off into the pale golden grey of St Canard. 

###### 

Three nuggets deep into a combo meal, he’s sitting parked on the docks, one earbud in, half watching a standup set on Netchixs. The clock ticks past to 6:32, and he gets a text from Launchpad.

  
ellpee: OMW HOME, FEW HRS OUT. PUERTO RICO WAZ FUN, GOT BIT BY STRAY MONGOOSE? DONT HAVE RABIES I THINK , LUV YOU , SEE YOU SOON !!!! <3 <3 <3

  
deedubbya: Please dont fly and text   
deedubbya: are mongeese even native to puerto rico? 

  
ellpee: GOT ONE HAND ON THE WHEEL IS FINE. NO, THIS ONE WAS WEIRD GOOSE!!

  
deedubbya: You better not come back cursed, i wont let you in the door. plz focus on flying tho  
deedubbya: Ill see you later, love you too <3 

Hazarding a guess that Gos would be up by now, he replies, heart full of pride. 

  
dorkwing dad: Thats my girl !! All that hard work paying off -- i can only hope youll thank me when youre accepting your world history award

She replies instantly, Drake smiles so hard it hurts. 

gosaroo: Uhhh yeah like im gonna get an award for nerd stuff and not for being the worlds first hockey champion slash crimefighter slash phlebotomist  
gosaroo: Philan thor pist*  
gosaroo: And you know i have to thank my adoring fans first 

  
dorkwing dad: Adoring fans ??? humble too 

gosaroo: Like you can talk dad . anyways, i gotta go cement my place as a bright young mind - i have to get ready for school ttyl <3 

  
dorkwing dad: Ok pumpkin, have a good day, dont skip breakfast

gosaroo: Only if you dont :) 

He crumples all the wrappers of his dinner-breakfast together, snapping a quick picture to one-up Gos, and drives home. 

###### 

He only wakes up because he hears the front door slam. Instincts tell him to jump, but the telltale sound of LP’s footsteps coming up the stairs is enough to assuage his assumption of home invasion. The light from the hallway seeps into the room as the door opens, Launchpad’s weight on the bed is a comfort all its own. 

‘How's the trip?’ He mumbles, but he’s so groggy from sleep it comes out more like ‘Hyuhza-zip’ 

‘Aw, I didn't mean to wake you,’ LP says, dragging an infinitely gentle hand over Drake’s forehead, pushing his feathers flush against his scalp. Drake watches, bleary eyed as Launchpad sheds his jacket and shirt, no doubt leaving them all on one spot on the floor to trip over later, to join him on the bed. 

‘Oh, the trip?’ Launchpad replies, when he’s finally settled enough to process the information, ‘Yeah, it was pretty great, if you don’t count the mongoose - he’d been living there for centuries or something? And was possessed by a ghost, wouldn't stop talking about-’

‘Wait-wait-wait... the mongoose could talk?’ Drake says, half sitting up to shoot him an incredulous stare, before using the excuse to splay out on LP’s chest. 

‘Yeah, obviously, how else was it meant to tell us the riddles to keep us from the forbidden grove?’

‘Oh yeah, how silly of me,’ He replies, casual, before remembering, ‘Then why did he bite you? I thought you just meant that you’d stepped on someone’s pet or stuck your arm in a tree stump or something,’ 

‘Beats me,’ Launchpad yawns, turning onto his side, ‘He was a rude little dude,’

‘Wonder why,’ Drake says, not really expecting an answer. Launchpad settles at his shoulder, conversation giving way to exhaustion, his arm wrapped around Drake’s waist. The world goes fuzzy with sleep. 

He’s blissfully unconscious for an undetermined amount of time, but it’s definitely not enough when his phone rings. He bats around to feel for it under the pillow before knocking a glass of water off the side table, jumping at the sound and reflexively elbowing his poor sleeping boyfriend in the chest. After all that it's a withheld number. Not unusual in his life at the moment for multiple reasons, but the unsolicited wake up leaves him too pissed off to put on his phone voice. The covers shift as Launchpad shuffles over to give him a quizzical look as he presses the answer button. 

‘Hello? Mr Mallard?’

‘Speaking.’ 

‘This is Yvonne, from the adoption agency, we’re just finalising your case at the moment, and we were wondering if you would like to sign for Gosalyn’s custody today?’ 

‘Today?!’ He says, bolting upright out of bed like a live wire has been jammed into his spine,

‘Yes, of course this means you’d be able to house her as soon as possible, we’ll be contacting her foster home by the evening if you could be at the adoption centre today? The same place we had the hearing?’

‘Yes, yes of course! We can be there as soon as,’ He looks over to Launchpad, whose eyes are wide while he works out the quickest route to the centre on the other side of town. Counting on his fingers, he mouths the word forty;

‘We can be there in thirty minutes!’ Drake says, 

Launchpad blanches. 

‘Oh, that’s wonderful! We can get that all arranged today, and you can pick her up this evening! Of course there will be follow up meetings with the social workers as you know, but after this, you and your partner will be her legal guardians.’

‘That's great! That sounds great! We honestly can't wait to trap her here with us!’ There’s an audible slap as Drake facepalms, he catches Launchpad’s blank grimace out the corner of his eye, ‘We can’t wait to get her settled’

Yvonne laughs on the other end of the phone, ‘I’ll send you the address and details via email okay? See you at two thirty Mr. Mallard!’ 

‘Yes! Thanks Yvonne, we’ll talk to you later, I-I... bye’

The phone beeps, and the whole world stops. If it wasn't for the gentle rise and fall of Launchpad’s chest, he would’ve just assumed that time had broken again. It takes a moment of apprehension rising in his chest for his heart to start beating loud enough for his comprehension sink in.  
He cries, tackling Launchpad into a tight hug, pressing a hard kiss to his beak and bundling them both back on the mattress. 

‘Why did you say thirty minutes?’ Launchpad begs him, smiling through the furrowed brow, almost vibrating with excitement, holding the quilt so tightly it's a surprise he doesn't just tear right through the thing. 

‘I don't know, I panicked!’ Drake squawks, flapping his hands.

All at once Launchpad deflates, stopping Drake in his tracks . He flaps around uselessly, hand moving between going to cradle Launchpad’s cheek and pushing back the hair from his eyes while LP struggles to get the words out, crying unabashedly. 

‘Shh, Launchpad, sweetie, darling, its okay, tell me’ Drake asks,

‘I’m-’ Launchpad swipes the tears from his eyes, the low timbre of his voice wobbling,‘I’m just so h- we can finally bring our baby home’

It’s a surprise that nobody gets hurt while they get ready. LP trips over the clothes on the floor stubbing his toe on the end of the bed, trying to put on a pair of jeans and a less stained button down. Drake steps in the puddle, swearing when he drops his phone in it. He’s feeling more numb by the second, the panic and anticipation and relief compressing in his gut like a supernova star, webbing through his veins and making everything feel distant. He shimmies on a shirt that doesn't need to be ironed, and finger combs his hair before slapping one of Launchpad’s baseball hats on. They brush their teeth sobbing, and almost fall down the stairs after forgetting to grab car keys. And then, it’s just an hour away from being an official-on-paper family. When they come back, it’ll be with Gosalyn. 

###### 

School sucks so much. Anthony Cager threw a pencil at the back of her head so hard that it stung, so she threatened to suplex him into the ground so hard that he’d be picking gravel out his pinfeathers for the next decade. It did the trick, all things considered. He flinched like a coward when she squared up to him over his desk, which brought a deserved pang of satisfaction but now she was having a discussion with the school counsellor. She keeps droning on about how she must be ‘dealing with grief but you cannot let this affect the way you speak to people’. Like it was anything to do with grief, and not that Anthony Cager has a vendetta against her for beating him in co-ed hockey tryouts.

The counsellor, Ms Hawking, goes on about responsibility and like, repression, she thinks, but Gosalyn is too busy staring at the ceiling just behind her head. Thinking about the way the mini golf guy’s forehead vein popped out his face on the weekend. He was really pissed. Dad wasn't having any of it though, when the golf guy had turned towards Gosalyn with fury, he’d stepped in front of her, palms up, ready to deescalate the situation. 

Well, tried to, at least. It doesn't matter that his fat mouth ran off with him, because Launchpad had scooped her up when it broke bad, and they giggled so much running to the car that she thought she was gonna die. The image of Drake dodging around their shitty little ford fiesta while a very angry small guy is trying to hit him with a golf club is not something that she’s gonna forget soon. 

She schools the urge to grin into something more somber, biting her beak a little to seem reproachful enough that she could figure out guilting Ms Hawking into sending her to lunch early. She drops her shoulders, clasps her hands behind her back, furrows her brow just like she wants to get ice cream from LP before dinner. Ms Hawking pauses, looking at her with a deep pity. Gross, but it will suit her just fine. 

‘I promise I won’t do it again Ms H, I just think - it’s so difficult, y’know, not having a Mom or Dad or anything’ She says, up through her eyelashes, hiding the lack of remorse with a bold faced lie.

She walks out there twenty minutes before lunch starts.

Wandering around the halls with her pass is better than sitting still in a chair for her brief break in freedom. She does a quick round, circling to Honker’s class to pull a face at him through the door window, mocks laughing at him when he gives her a confused look. 

She bolts through to the back hallways that they’re not allowed to be in during lunch and breaks. There’s a little part just behind the science block where the stairs lead out to a shut fire door that nobody really uses outside of drills, where she practices scaling the stairs using only the handrails, clambering up onto the railings without touching the floor once. Once she’s settled on the top step, she pulls a capri sun out her bag and switches her phone on. Dad is probably asleep right now, but she does get a cool picture from Launchpad of a weird and ancient looking building. 

Whenever LP sees something he thinks she’d like, he sends it over. Which is all the time. She has a fat folder dedicated to screenshots of macros, kittens with stupid captions over them, awful candids of her Dad, pictures of booby traps in temples and graffiti in far off cities. Even a few short videos of LP stumbling through a real life haunted house of mirrors, talking her through it like she’d asked him how to ride a bike. 

She sighs. Launchpad had promised her late one night, over hot chocolate and staring up at the stars, (both awake from nightmares, she didn't have to explain, didn't have to tell him a thing, just let Launchpad brush her hair back and wrap her in his big cozy dressing gown) that he’d fly her anywhere she wanted once they were an ‘official-on-paper family’. It’s hard to not let her imagination run away with her, sprawling cities with daring adventures like the ones she's been told about, or deep dark catacombs nobody has walked through in years. She will definitely hold him to that, but right now she can’t even leave the state with them, let alone the country. She chews on the capri sun straw, kicking her legs over the stairwell enough to make the whole structure hum with the reverb. A flash draws her attention back to her phone, a text from Pops, and another image. It’s of a sunrise over the ocean, taken from the cockpit of the Sunchaser, the message reads: 

launchpops: MISSIN YOU ALL THE TIME KIDDO, WISH YOU WERE HERE <3

Well, it might not be a daring adventure, but it’ll do for now. 

###### 

Ice water fills his veins, and he can’t shake this thin prickly feeling that makes all his feathers stand on end. He’s gripping the steering wheel, white knuckled, because he insisted on driving, staring down at the grey walled complex that houses the adoption centre. This is it. This is the final hurdle. And all Drake wants to do is throw up. 

His palms are sweating so much that he can't hold his phone properly, so he drags them down the front of his shirt, the material irking him in a way that it didn’t when he put it on. He has to readjust his hat numbly just for the comfort of the motion. Launchpad is sitting in the passenger seat, calm as a mill pond, no doubt watching Drake sail from anticipatory straight into full blown panic, which of course, makes Drake feel even worse. It bubbles up in his chest;

'Hey, this is too easy, right? It's not just me?’ He stares at LP, looking for some sign that says it’s going to go south, maybe a spontaneous combustion, or a unprompted bolt of lightning, or a flash flood or something.

‘Are we sure this is the right address?' Shaking, he unlocks his phone to eye the address in the email sent, comparing it to the map app on LP’s phone that’s clipped into the dash. It’s beside the point that they’ve walked into the adoption centre in front of him countless times, even climbing in through a back window once, for completely normal and regular reasons, that were not at all to do with leaving a very conspicuous vigilante costume in the bathroom. 

He locks his phone only to unlock it again, obsessively removing the notifications before re-locking it. He does this three more times in ten seconds, only being interrupted by a hand on his shoulder, careful enough to avoid the bruise. 

‘Hey, Drake, it’s gonna be fine,’

‘It feels like a set up, it feels fake, we’re not just gonna be able to walk in there and walk out with a daughter it’s - it’s too easy!’ Rushes from Drake like verbal vomit. 

‘...it hasn't been easy, though' Launchpad says, brow furrowed, 'Unless you think that saving Gos from a kidnapping was easy, or leaving her at the home every week for a year was easy,' 

'LP what are you trying to do here?' Drake accuses, tensing up and turning to him, hurt ghosting across his face, 

'I'm answering your questions' he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. LP squeezes his bicep gently;

‘'We've had to do some pretty difficult stuff to get here Dee… if anything I think this is the natural ending for that... the least the universe can do for us, for Gos especially - is to make this last part easy' 

'I guess… I’m being such a - ugh- drama queen right now, sorry,’ He hisses and tries to blink back hot tears, ‘I should be happy right? I should be completely ecstatic? I don't know why I'm so convinced something is going to happen' 

'Well yeah, you could be happy,’ LP looks out the window beyond the tarmac, through the building itself, Drake can’t help but notice how the wistful look suits him, ‘But it is terrifying... I think most people who have kids can agree on that, even when they’ve been parents for years and years… and anyway, look, nothing’s gonna happen' 

'Don't jinx it' 

He smiles, wry, looking back at him with all the conviction in the world, 'I'm going to jinx it! Nothing bad will happen at this meeting!’

The deadpan glare Launchpad gets for his troubles is the second best pout he has seen. 

‘Now if anything happens it's my fault for jinxing it okay?’

The faith Launchpad broadcasts just blows Drake away, and if that faith happens to be aimed at him, who is he to play the non believer? 

‘Anyway, I think I’m pretty ready for whatever Yvonne the case worker can throw at me, as long as it's not a brick' 

Drake snorts, the mental image of their mild-mannered, stocky middle aged social worker snapping does get him, 'Okay… I do think you could beat her if it really came down to it' 

'n if anything does happen we'll move through it, like we've been doing this whole time,’ He pauses, thinking, ‘Even if the actor for Hot Couture comes back from the dead to drop through the ceiling. We'll just have to rearrange the appointment' 

That makes him laugh again, the pressure on his chest becoming lighter and lighter, his hands warming up.

‘We’d definitely have to ask for a signature,’ Drake hiccups, wiping his face. LP looks at him, gaze soft and accommodating;

'You've got this ok? I can tell you, for sure, this is all going to turn out fine,' 

Maybe it's the conviction in his eyes. Maybe it's how, despite how many times it’s directed at him, Launchpad’s confidence blindsides him like a truck, crashing past every synapse that tells Drake to think otherwise. Maybe he’s just moonstruck. Either way, Drake can’t do anything but trust him.

###### 

Nothing goes wrong. In fact, the whole process is as mundane as possible. Yvonne pulls out Gosalyn's fat file, checks everything is up to date for a whole of 3 seconds, and then marks a series of papers for the two of them to sign. The residing attorney watches her, looking thirty seconds away from falling asleep then and there. The pen doesn't even do that ink blotty thing that pens do when they haven't been used in a while, signing his name is as easy as if he's collecting a parcel. Launchpad does the same, radiating a sort of calm that betrays the way his leg is bouncing under the table. The attorney doesn't even get a stamp out, to stamp on the papers or anything, she just leans over, signs the papers on a different section, and bids them good luck and goodbye.

Yvonne hands over Gosalyn's passport, a file with her birth certificate, medical information and some other documents which all get patted into the same manilla envelope. She goes behind the desk to pull out a cardboard box that has a paper taped to it.

`We do have to go through a few things before I can get you all signed off, there are some of Mr Waddlemeyers things here, after he passed Gosalyn and her social worker picked out some items of family significance that they thought would be beneficial to hold onto, barring what Gosalyn already has. As you know, you’ll be subjected to a few follow up meetings with social workers at home, but the majority of that will be monitored via the school,’

Drake nods numbly. Yvonne turns in her seat to type away at her computer for a few moments, clicking and double checking their signatures, pulling the carbon copies off the forms and tucking them into yet another envelope. She turns back with a smile. 

'Well, gentlemen; Drake Mallard, and you, Launchpad McQuack, are now the official legal guardians of Gosalyn Waddlemeyer' 

It’s all very underwhelming, really. His excitement eclipses the anxiety and he can feel himself even out, even if his eyes are getting wetter by the second. But before he can lean over to shake Yvonne’s hand, Launchpad stands with a sudden urgency. His chair tips back and his body shoves the desk forward an inch. His face is puffy and red, and in one clumsy motion, he crushes Yvonne in a bear hug. 

‘Thank you, thank you so much, Yvonne I’m going to… I'm going to recommend you to everyone, do you have a Squawk page? Can I leave you five stars on a website somewhere? I'm going to bake you some pumpernickel, do you like muffins? Like, the sweet kind, I can’t- I can’t make the savoury kind’ 

‘LP, come on, you’re on the verge of manslaughter here,’ Drake says, tugging at his jacket sleeve to pull him back a little,

‘Oh my goodness, I’m sorry, sorry, I should’ve at least asked or something,’ 

‘No, no! Don’t worry, emotions run high with these sort of things, I get it all the time’ Yvonne laughs, but the way her face contorts sort of says she doesn’t, 

‘You’re telling me!’ LP replies, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hands, swiping blindly behind him to find Drake’s arm again.

‘And, Mr McQuack? My favourite is sourdough, but my wife loves pumpernickel,’

Leaving the office becomes a blurry memory in an instant. Everything is just smears of colours from the tears he’s holding back, but he’s pretty sure that he thanked the admin assistant who he’s sure isn’t that much older than Gos herself, and the receptionist, and the guy who was switching out the water cooler, and a ficus. Launchpad clings close to his side, too busy sniffing intermittently and dabbing his eyes to have a sense of direction. 

The door behind them has been shut for a less second before Drake spins on his heel to burrow into Launchpad’s side. He keeps switching between gasping with giddy laughter and trying to talk, but all that comes out is a sort of weird half sobbing noise. Launchpad sighs deeply, pressing his hands over his face, Drake can feel the ragged heaving in his chest, he curls an arm around LP’s back, knuckles grazing over his spine.

‘Get it all out big guy,’ He says, tenderness overflowing his heart and sticking to his words, ‘We’ve got our daughter to pick up’

###### 

She’s pretending to do her homework, sitting in the living room while a younger kid shouts upstairs and Ms Cavanaugh's real kid taps away on his laptop behind her. There aren't any other kids at the moment.. She’s been here the longest, easily, the rest rotate out on a weekly basis, she shares her room with a new girl at least every month. That probably sucks the most. The girls themselves are fine, she’s found. Other than having to pretend she doesn't hear sniffling in the middle of the night, or if it's a younger kid, hand holding them to the toilet, it’s easy. No, getting along with them has never been the problem.

It's not having anywhere to think. Gos can’t count how many times the wrong noise has sent her over the edge of having a good old fashioned tantrum. Not to mention all the interrupted schemes! Though, she thinks, she is a lot sneakier than she was before. Even if it would be nice to have a bed that was hers and a place to put up all her posters. 

That’s beside the point though, since she does have a real bed, waiting for her, and her own room. It’s just behind some stupid papers and some stupid social workers and some stupid laws. 

Gosalyn knows that it shouldn't take much longer now, logically. Too bad logical thoughts don't always work. A voice in her head that she doesn't like to think about keeps telling her that it’s too good to be true. Something might happen, maybe Drake will change his mind, not wanting a snot nosed kid following him around when he leads such an exciting life, maybe some weird estranged aunt will come and pull her away from her home and she would be made to be a lady, and have to give up hockey and horror movies and -

No. She tries to focus on the things around her, the carpet under her hands, the chewed end of the pencil she had been using, the drone of some sitcom playing on the TV in the background, like Launchpad had taught her.

Behind her, the doorbell rings, and Ms Cavanaugh answers it. 

Her Dad and Pops walk through the door. Weird, since she doesn't think they had a booked meeting in. A cold spike cuts through her, what if they’re here to say that they’ve changed their minds? Of course it was too good to be true. In the same moment, LP catches her gaze through the doorway, and the grin that he gives her erases all the doubt straight away. 

She dumps her books on the floor, vaulting over the coffee table and over the sofa to throw herself into Launchpad’s arms. He catches her like he's just been thrown a water bottle. 

‘What are you guys doing here?’ She asks, hanging off LP’s shoulder,

‘Oh,’ Drake says, ‘Well we left something pretty important here when we dropped you off yesterday, and we were coming to pick it up’ 

LP snorts above her, squishing her a bit more.

‘Typical!’ She says, ‘Am I going to have to start sending you to work with a note pinned to your shirt, Dad?’

‘Nah, I don’t think she’ll let me forget it if I leave her behind again,’ He quips, looking smug and leaning back against the door, eyes suspiciously shiny.

‘What? You must be losing it D-’ Gos says, incredulously, the meaning behind the words taking a while to sink in, ‘wait, what?!’

She wriggles out of Launchpad’s arms, so she can look at both of them at the same time.  
‘What?’ She says again, mouth suddenly dry and feeling all the blood rush to her brain,

‘Well I just think me and LP are gonna have to get our heads screwed on a bit tighter, now we’ve got an official-on-paper daughter to worry about,’ 

Tears burn the backs of her eyeballs, her legs give out but instead of hitting the floor Launchpad reaches an arm out to steady her. The static in her ears is only interrupted by the sound of her heart beating a mile a minute, Drake crouches down to her level, holding his arms out and saying something she can’t quite hear. She falls into his arms, hot tears streaming down her face like a toddler as she’s bundled close to his chest, tucked under his chin and feeling like she should just be swaddled in his jacket forever and it would be fine with her. 

A hand comes up to card through her hair, she turns her head to see Launchpad crouched down with them, his face beaming and wet with tears. They’re all sitting on the floor now, and as the sound in her ears subsides she can definitely hear her Dad cry above her, his arms shaking just as much as she is. 

‘For real?’ She manages to hiccup, swallowing the lump in her throat and pulling away to look at him,

‘For real real, pumpkin, signed the papers an hour ago,’ He smooths his hands over her face with the motion, wiping the streaks of tears away in the process, his voice hoarse.

‘Keen-’ She hiccups again, and if she wasn’t so happy she’d be mad about it, ‘Keen gear’ 

She reaches out to grab Launchpad’s arm, pulling him into the embrace, she nestles between the two of them. A warm, still feeling settles in her chest, the realisation hitting her like concrete. Safe. She feels safe. For the first time in a long while. She clings to her Dads, tucked away and stable and going home, and doesn't try to stop herself from weeping. 

###### 

Gosalyn is like a speeding bullet after that, it makes Drake dizzy just watching her, stomach still unsettled from all the panic. She zips back and forth to her room, to the kitchen, to the car, weaving loops around Launchpad who watches her, awestruck.

‘I’m done packing’ Gosalyn declares, breathless, moments later ‘I just need help getting it into the car’

‘Well Gosaroo, I think I can help you there,’ 

LP clambers up the stairs after Gosalyn, matching her energy like he hasn’t only had three hours sleep. When they come back down she’s holding an armful of clothes, grinning from ear to ear, while he has a very dashing bright purple scarf wrapped around his neck, duffle bag under his arm.

The moment relaxes, surprisingly calm in the late afternoon sunlight, dust particles dancing in the air, Drake’s two favourite people in front of him. He opens the door so they can pack the car uninterrupted, Gos tilts her head to headbutt him on the way past, and LP squeezes his elbow and gives him a chaste kiss to the side of his beak. 

Drake goes upstairs to finish packing. Gos didn't have much to begin with; there’s only one more thing to go.

Something indescribable settles in his chest, seeing his little girl’s entire life packed up into a single cardboard box and a duffle bag. There’s no universe where Drake understands that the wholeness of Gos’ life, Gos’ experiences, can be bundled in such a small space. It sobers his manic excitement. He has to take a moment, sitting on her old bed. The world around him grows fuzzy. Part of him feels like the mailman is going to wake him up any second, and he’ll be back where he was two years ago, dozing in his shitty studio apartment alone; his two bed townhouse, his (future) fiancee, and his daughter, just the dreams of a lonely, hungover barista. 

The duvet is all crumpled, made in under ten seconds, no doubt. A little wrestling figure of the Blind Bandit sits on her bedside table, as well as one creased, thick, dog-eared comic compilation in Spanish. It’s the last one her Grandpa had ever given to her, Gosalyn never goes anywhere without it. Drake doesn’t need to open it to know the message inside. (For my little girl blue, lots of love, your Abuelo)

Connecting this tableau of Gos, the orphan foster kid, who keeps all her clothes pre-packed, who has one lone anchor to her old life, who exists so liminally; to his spirited kid who crams wrappers down the backs of his sofa, who punched a hole in the drywall during indoor hockey practice, who sprawls over his and LP’s laps complaining when they outvote her on rewatching the second season of Darkwing Duck for movie night. Who is so, so present in his home, even in absence. In the toys stuffed under the coffee table he finds days after she has been over, from the almost empty cereal boxes she leaves, the smudgy thumbprints on his car window where she’d drawn shapes in the condensation. How she can be so strong to handle both halves of her life, how she can exist with such tenacity amazes him. She amazes him. 

He’s glad he can finally give her the life she deserves.

The thought drives him to the glassy eyed present, where he’s hugged his arms so tight around his body for the pressure that he must look pretty ridiculous. Luckily, nobody has walked in. That changes quickly. The door swings open, bouncing back off its hinges as Goslyn ham fistedly punches her way through, she jumps on the heels of her feet, flexing her fingers over and over. 

‘Dad! What are you doing? Why do you …. Look like that. Oh gross are you getting all mushy up here?’ 

‘No!’ His voice cracks, Gos gives him a withering look ‘What? Can’t a guy get a bit misty eyed on the most important day of his life?’

She has no backchat for that, in fact, the opposite. She smiles, wide and watery. 

‘Aw… Dad’ She cries, bouncing up at him, Drake catches her with ease, letting her arms wrap around his neck, nearly strangling him. He can't seem to care though. Every moment until then just sort of… collapses, like everything has just been leading up to this one day, this one hour. 

It’s scary, knowing that all the bad things in his life, getting kicked out at eighteen, the hard years of slogging through minimum wage jobs and barely making rent, the explosion at the studio, are made a little less terrible if they result in this. In his little family. Knowing that for sure now, with his baby in his arms, it all feels worth it. He’d do it a thousand times over in a heartbeat. 

All his experiences eclipsed by a spirited kid with an issue with authority. She leans back in his arms. 

‘Are you internal mony-loguing again, Dad?’ She asks, 

‘And what if I was?’ He asks back, plopping her down on the floor, ‘What if I was internal mony-logging about my incredible life and my amazing daughter?’

‘I’d say wow! You are so, so right, you do have an amazing daughter’ Her acerbic tone softened by the way she grins on the word, her little hand still clinging to his.

He can't argue with that. 

###### 

They trundle down with the last box, Gos clutching her book and figure to her chest, she bounces down the stairs, wild joy radiating off of her like sunbeams. Ms Cavanaugh bids Gosalyn a teary eyed goodbye. Gos gives her a tight hug around the middle, and he maybe even hears a genuine thank you.

Launchpad opens the door for her like the chauffeur he is. She giggles when he bows low, fussing when he peppers her forehead with kisses. The subsequent sound of LP smashing his head on the side of the door when she uses the opportunity to tickle him is enough to make the car jump, Gosalyn laughing somehow manages to be louder. 

Inside the car, the air is comfortably heavy. In the back Gosalyn babbles on and on about nothing in particular, switching between infodumping about the intricacies of the 1992 HWC and her theories on the new Wiffleboy RPG. Launchpad watches her with rapt attention, twisted in the passenger seat, knee leaning on the dash at an odd angle, though he's not showing any signs of discomfort. Routine fondness fills Drake's chest at the sight, it's enough to make him ache. 

She falls asleep somewhere between passing the town hall and the docks, the emotion of the day eclipsing any of her left over energy. Drake can't stop glancing at her in the rearview mirror, convinced she's a trick of the light. She has her head pillowed on her bag, Launchpads jacket draped over her retroactively from the front seat. By the time they pull into the drive she’s snoring softly. 

She jolts when Drake picks her up, her flailing arms hit him with a punch to the jaw that could’ve sent him reeling, with a bit of honing.  
'Shh, it's alright honey, go back to sleep' He says, despite only just managing to not drop her.

'No!' she complains, wriggling despite her eyes drooping, 'Put me down Dad,' 

He complies at the sternness in her voice. She sways a little when her feet hit the floor, but she pushes away Drake's supporting arm to grab her bag from the backseat. Launchpad hovers behind them, boxes stacked under his arm like it's nothing. 

'I wanna be able to remember,' She says, determined even though she's struggling to keep her eyes open, ‘It’s important’

'Of course honey, whatever you want,’ Drake replies, like he could deny her anything at this point. 

‘There’s no rush Gos,’ LP chimes in, smoothing a hand down Drake’s shoulder. 

She shimmies her backpack on, reaching her hand out again to grab Drake's with one and LP's with the other. Launchpad glances between him and Gos with overwhelming devotion and he leans down to plant a kiss on the side of Drake’s beak. Drake flushes, and reflects the grin straight back at him. 

He looks back down at Gos, his daughter, their daughter, to find her staring straight back at him. Her face is bright and soft with unabashed adoration, her red curls ruffled and half stuck to her face from the static of the drive. Being on the receiving end of such admiration wrings him through and if he had any more tears left in him, he’s sure he would be crying by now. 

Instead his heart seizes with love, so much so it’s a tangible ache low in his chest. He squeezes her hand like a vice, and she responds by gripping his in return as tight as her little fingers allow. 

He has to drop her hand briefly to unlock the door. She flaps about in the absence. She’s all but bouncing in anticipation, shedding sleep with newfound adrenaline as she snatches his hand up again. Launchpad laughs, moving behind them both automatically without having to be asked, so they can all get through the door without bottlenecking. He refuses to let go of Gosalyn’s hand though, or, maybe, Gosalyn refuses to let go of his, creating a wonky chain of arms. Drake leans back into him, hoping the little wordless thank you is enough. By the way that LP tilts into him, he thinks it got across okay. 

‘You ready kiddo?’ Drake asks, elation bleeding into his words. 

‘Dad, now I don’t know how much attention you’ve been paying to the sitch’ She lolls her head into a full body eye roll, her excitement betraying her sarcasm, ‘or who you think you’re talking to, but just as a little update; I’ve been ready for months,’ 

Hand in hand in hand, they walk through the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Pacing ? Don't know her.
> 
> Mostly an exercise in getting my Gos voice right. This started as an idea for a thousand word story and turned into the longest thing I've ever written, clocking in at just under 10k words and 20 pages. Wild.
> 
> The pagebreaks ARE technically headers cause idk how to use html, and I'm so sorry that you had to read some text in the homestuck font. My deepest sympathies. 
> 
> The adoption process is about 40/60 percent gleaned from my Ma's experience adopting my sister, and a mix of research on the US and UK adoption system. As such its not completely accurate, but for real if St Canard has an adoption system we sure as shit didn't see it in DDTD. Its free real estate. 
> 
> I might write a wee lil epilogue depending on how I'm feeling later. I just love the mallard mcquacks so goddamn much. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos appreciated, comments adored!!


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